Sad Kotyonok - The Advent Adventure
by TapTapAlways
Summary: This is a story for my friend who is sad sometimes. It will stretch across fandoms in total insanity and answer questions you never asked such as "What would happen if you introduced Doctor Strange's Cloak to the flying carpet from Aladdin?", "Would Doctor Strange and John Watson hit it off?" and "Would Doctors Strange and Who drink far too much while bonding?". An Advent Calendar.
1. December 1:st

**December 1:st - Introductions**

Flick. Flick. Flick. The Cloak swooped through the Sanctum, taking delight in the act of flying. It had been stuck in a box for far too long, and now it wanted to _fly_!

It liked its choise of human. Doctor Strange only tweaked an eyebrow in bemusement as he caught it soaring through the halls and sweeping through the rooms, occasionally swooping down to check on its mortal.

The other mortals who came and went expressed surprise or even disdain in finding it flying around, clearly of the opinion that cloaks ought to remain on the coatrack, even enchanted ones, but the Cloak's own human, he merely shrugged and said that it always came when he needed it, and that was always the end of any discussion. The cloak approved both of the support, and of his command of the situation.

It liked to fight alongside Strange, who was new to it all but fairly talented, for a human, and it also liked letting itself fall down over him at night when he had settled in bed, often with a book, sometimes even leaving his sleeping form as an astral being, to read more. The Cloak always knew when he did, and it guarded his body loyally at every such occasion.

* * *

"Ho-ho!" Mrs Hudson entered the empty, cluttered livingroom of 221B Baker street and lifted her feet properly, setting them down again with care, not to happen to walk on something sharp. One could never know with those boys of hers. She thought of her little chicks with fond affection as she started to tidy up.

Life had been somewhat boring and empty before they turned up. She had been happy, after the death of her husband, but she was not as young anymore and bingo bored her. Canasta should be considered a crime!

With her boys living upstairs though, there was never a boring moment, even though being kidnapped and dragged upstairs by armed men was one of the moments she'd rather not have more of. Well, one had to take the bad with the good, and all that.

* * *

Swish, swish, swi...SH!

The TARDIS, a relic more marvelous than even the very old, highly sentient, marvelous Cloak of Levitation, brought its chosen timelord through time and space with nothing more than a whisper of sound. It would soon be time... soon, but not quite yet.

* * *

Doctor Strange sunk down into a chair, cradling his trembling hands close to his chest. They only rarely hurt, but today was one of those rare times. Maybe it was the cold. He had barely thought of it, before his crimson cloak came swooping into the room, falling around his shoulders and taking especial care to delicately encompass his hands to warm them up.

He was still working on coming to grips with not only his permanently damaged hands, but also his magic. He could use his magic on his hands, of course, but they tended to hurt after the fact when he did, and he did not like the thought of hiding. Of having to alter his body because he was ashamed. It was not in his proud nature to do so. Something, though, told him a change of some kind was afoot, and that he might find new ways to look at it, just this December.

 _This the first chapter introduces you to some of the characters, aka, the leading roles, so to speak. I would put this up as a crossover, but I am not certain as a crossover to WHAT exactly. Maybe at the end of December I will know._

 _I am writing this day by day for all of December - though I do have a timeline/finished storyline to go after, and will finish one or two scenes mostly towards the ending in advance. Besides that though, I am literally making this stuff up as I go along. It is an intriguing challenge!_

 _I do not own anything you recognise - I don't even know where some of it is from!_

 _TapTap_


	2. December 2:nd

**December 2:nd - I Am Meant To Be Eating Goo?**

Doctor Strange - because there was no way he'd stand for any of that "master" business, he had worked hard for his medical degree and he intended to remember that - looked at the plate of food with sceptisism.

Well, "food", might be going a little too far. Goo, he would consider a more apt description. It was purple, slimy, and looked a little bit like a half-undigested octupus drenched in its own ink. If octopus ink had been purple.

He had prepared it exactly to the recipy, and he was _good_ at following recipies, so he did not doubt that it was entirely right. That fact was exactly what was bothering him. Adding to his humiliation, his cloak had apparently taken a break from its favourite occupation of glide-flying through the house like a gigantic, red, out-of-water ray for seemingly no reason and instead was watching him intently. He had an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach that if a piece of cloth could giggle, this one would.

Somewhat to his surprise, as he retrieved a fork, the cloak came and fell around his shoulders, one heavy fold of fabric finding his arm and lifting, tugging, as if it wanted to direct him somewhere. Allowing it, he watched as the cloak suggested that he'd use his pasta condiments. Suddenly, that argument made sense.

Pretending that the weird, slimy, long strings of goo was in fact pasta instead, Stephen prepared the rest of the meal and sat down to eat it, cape still sticking to his shoulders like a permanent hug. Not that he was much for hugs, of course. If anyone should ask. (He secretly _was._ )

He found himself grimacing as he put it up on the fork, which was not entirely easy, but not as hard as he had imagined it to be. He resisted the urge to close his eyes as he took the first bite, only to almost startle in surprise. He could swear the cloak was giggling at him again.

The... _interesting_ , purple goo was, well, _nice_. There was no other way of expressing it: he _liked_ eating purple goo for lunch. Well, he supposed, as he dug into his meal. He was a doctor, and he did magic. He didn't strictly _believe_ in magic, but he _did_ it; liking strange magical food wasn't really up there, after all, now was it?

 _Apparently, in the comic, he needs special complementary foods as he does so much magic. He is seen eating goo on occasion, those who have read it tells me. Interesting, and also funny. So I thought, what if goo is actually tasty, at least if you're a sorcerer? Because we assume it wouldn't be, but we don't_ know _, do we? We could just be ignorant from not having tried!_

 _I do not own anything you recognise - I don't even know where some of it is from!_

 _TapTap_


	3. December 3:rd

**December 3:rd - A Duo You Should Be Afraid Of**

Mrs Hudson was not some silly, clear-cut older woman with no ability to think on her feet. Her boys had known that ever since the americans had broken in and she had held Irene Adler's phone safe from them. Sherlock knew, she was sure of that. She was also certain he'd keep her cards close to his chest. Oh, she loved that boy.

It was true, of course, that she was silly at times, and she had no problem with being a fairly silly old lady - she was an intelligent woman, and she had never once denied what she truly was. What she was not, however, was helpless, and she was seldom ever surprised.

That was how she had aquired some truly wondrous friends throughout the years, and that was also why she was not in the least surprised to enter her kitchen one morning, and find a blue box awaiting her.

"Well hello, dear" she greeted the blue box, this being far from their first few meeting. "How's that doctor of yours, dear?" The light on top of the box blinked a little bit, and Mrs Hudson tutted. "They never do, do they. Unsensible, these boys. It is just the same in this house!" The TARDIS blinked in sympathy.

"John needs to find a better partner, but Sherlock is being stubborn and our Doctor has terrible taste!" She told the TARDIS and they sympathised with each other's troubles for a while, before the TARDIS came up with a plan.

"Well, I can certainly help you with that, dear" was Mrs Hudson's only responce, as she shook her head slightly in exhasperation. "You are right your Doctor needs some company! And mine needs a bit of a companion, he is alone the poor dear, and all love for Sherlock dear, but he can be so blind sometimes, the dear boy".

The TARDIS blinked again in renewed sympathy, and Mrs Hudson politely offered it tea, in their very own ritual. The TARDIS did not drink tea, obviously, but it liked being offered some. And Mrs Hudson's tea smelled better than any other tea, too, at least according to the TARDIS.

 _How does Mrs Hudson understand the Tardis, you might ask? Magic!_

 _Also, apparently, it has a translation device, so that's science magic!_

 _I do not own anything you recognise - I don't even know where some of it is from!_

 _TapTap_


	4. December 4:th

**December 4:th - The Cloak Is A Bomb Plane Today**

Doctor Strange was many things, but he had never been quite as high-and-mighty in a few basic perspects as one might believe. He could cook, for example, preferring to prepare his own food when time allowed, rather than have takeout or making someone else do it.

As such, he often cooked himself now that he had the time to do so, even if he had to rely on someone else from the "cult", as Christine so brashly had called it, to help him sometimes if he couldn't get around using sharp knives. Of course, the new addition to his diet the last two days, of nutritional goo to go with food, had made takeout far less of an option anyway.

Christine had come around a short while yesterday, amazed at the new place he was living in, but she had kept hinting at how she wanted him to return to medicine as a consult, and he was just not ready for that. Sometime, maybe, but not now. He had changed. Then she'd mentioned Doctor West, and the whole encounter had gone downhill from there. She'd left soon after.

One of the new novices from Kamar-Taj came over with some extra ingredients - already neatly chopped up - just as he was ready for them, and neither one of them commented on Doctor Strange's Cloak drifting through the outer hall. In Stephen's case it was merely because of habit; his cloak always flied through the house and he had never minded. In the case of the novice, he had already gotten soundly chastised by Doctor Strange last time and was not about to repeat the experience.

That was why it came as a complete surprise when Stephen had just gone back to his cooking and there was a piercing scream coming from outside the room. Putting things down hastily, he moved out into the hall, only to have to lean against the wall not double over with laughter.

The novice was ducking as his cloak was charging it repeatingly from the air, not doing any harm, but attacking none the less. A small call from Strange made it return to his shoulders, leaving the novice to run for it as fast as he could. Strange went back to cooking, silently admitting that his Cloak had a terrific sense of humour.

Later that night, as Doctor Strange had settled into bed, for once not reading in his astral form but actually sleeping, the cloak moved away from its position, draped across him like the guard dog it was. It only eventually moved away because it heard a familiar noise.

It moved out into the hall, where no one could enter magically. No one... but the Cloak's old friend. Standing out in the hall, blinking peacefully, was the TARDIS.

 _Reviews are love - thank you to all who have reviewed, followed or favourited this far!_

 _I do not own anything you recognise - I don't even know where some of it is from!_

 _TapTap_


	5. December 5:th

**December 5:th - If Things Went Another Way**

The TARDIS drifted. It got boring, being a magical, mystical, marvelous artifact sometimes. Doctor Who was busy on his own, and so the time had come to play a little. Just to spice things up a bit.

With a destination now set, the TARDIS drifted into an Alternate Reality, to just have a peek into the life of a friend, should things have gone decidedly differently, making sure they'd never met.

Doctor Strange's life seemed perfect. Was perfect, to the most part. He was a famous surgeon, the best in his field, and life kept just throwing things at him. Things like renown, money and gratitude frequently came his way. He liked that, but he liked his job even better. He really did. Being in the OR, saving lives, was the best thing there was.

What was not common knowledge, was why Doctor Strange had become a doctor, and later on a surgeon, in the first place. When he was still a teen, his much younger sister had gotten desperately ill. He remembered med-school like a race against time to save her life.

He, brilliant and endlessly motivated as he had been, had won the race. By a mile. He had already been of considerable skill and with a few discoveries in his belt when his own sister lay at his operating table. He had actually succeeded with the impossible, rooting out her illness like the guardian angel he'd always be for her. Turns out, he had won the battle - but lost the war.

He had saved her, but the disease had still taken its price. Now, eighteen years later, she was still in a coma, having never woken up from surgery. It had kept him searching for new ways to heal the brain for years, but he was not delusional. She wasn't waking up.

His work had kept him grounded, saved him from going insane, and he loved it all the more for it. He did not forget his sister, though, and he had made sure she'd lie in the long time ward of his own hospital, so that he could see her. He did, too, and often.

As he was scrubbing off from yet another successful surgery, he pondered his calendar. He had it all memorised, of course, and did not need a book or electronic device to do so. He had a talk coming up, in only two weeks time. To get there, he would have to drive through some truly delightful mountain roads, and he was looking forward to it. Christine had told him many times to drive more carefully, but he had never listened.

As he made his way out into the hall, his pager beeped. A look showed that it was Liz, wanting him to get in contact. He liked Liz. She was a motherly, wise nurse about ten years older than he was, and she never fussed. She was in charge of the long time care unit for head injuries, and not only did she occasionally have some very interesting cases for him to look at, but she always took great care of his sister for him, keeping an extra eye on her. He was grateful for her care.

Changing his direction, he made his ways into an elevator and rode the several floors up to come have a look at whatever had made her contact him.

"Hi, Liz" he greeted, seeing her stand at the nurses station at the floor. "What do you have for me today?" To his surprise, she seemed a little bit hesitant. That was unprecidented. Someone else might have asked what was the matter, but he was not anyone else. He waited.

"It is your sister, Doctor" she said after a short moment, pausing briefly again, making his intestines go into all sorts of knots, before she said "she's moving her fingers". Now Doctor Strange was all sorts of things, even proud, but he had his priorities. Hearing that, he ran.

Liz came and joined him after a minute, at a more sedate pace, watching the man everyone else thought of as cold and judgemental, while she frequently glimpsed an entirely different side to the masterful surgeon, as he kept a watchful eye on his sister for all these years.

Without having to be asked, she produced the new scans which had just been made.. She would have called him first, but even if the girl waked up, it would take a while yet, and the doctor had been in surgery.

* * *

Her throat felt dry, and her eyes didn't want to be opened. Those were the first things Alicia Strange became aware of. Then there were voices and someone helping her sit up. She felt very weak.

As soon as she could see clearly, she recognised the type of room she was in. Hospital room. Not one she recognised, but then they were all so bland. Then, and she startled at that, she noticed the braid falling down over the blanket which covered her breasts. Wait, breasts? She had never developed curves. Not yet, anyway, and she didn't think she would live long enough.

She could, vaguely, connect the dots in her mind. Or not. With a choked voice, she demanded, feeling tears coming up and choking her "How long?!"

Her body certainly looked all different, that was for sure. Her hair, always kept short because of her illness, was the waistlong mass she had always dreamt of. "Eighteen years, dear" the nurse which had come in after the first one, saying her name was Liz, explained kindly. Eighteen, that meant she was... she mind rebelled at the thought of her being over thirty - of having been asleep for eighteen years - she wasn't even eighteen years old!

She had been fourteen, when... Stephen had... oh, Stephen. Had he forgotten about her? Was he married, far away somewhere? Were their parents dead? Where were all of her friends now? There was movement at the door, but she didn't heed it in her panic, then there was a hand on hers, and a familiar voice said "Alci. Look at me. _Alci_ , focus on me". Turning her head abruptly, she saw S _tephen_. He was older and looked very important, but it was _definitely_ her brother.

"That's it" he sat down on the side of her bed, the nurses moving to give him room. He had always had a lot of... power, to him, but they moved with respect. He had become important, while she slept. She always known he would be.

He was wearing scrubs, but unlike anyone else in the room, he had a facemask still with him, though he wasn't wearing it. She remembered doctors wore those in the OR. Had Stephen just come out of surgery? Of course he had. She felt a momentary surge of pride, before struggling to lift her other hand to grip Stephen's hand with both of hers, suddenly feeling panic closing in again. It was difficult to move, but he immediately reached out to help.

"Easy" it was that soft, kind voice he only ever used with her. "Relax. You're going to need some physical therapy before that is easy again". It was so like him, focusing on the medical side, that she let out a laughter which transformed to a sob. "Eighteen years?" "Eighteen years" he confirmed. "Don't worry. You're safe".

She felt safe, now that he was there.

* * *

The next several weeks were a flurry of physical therapy and catching up to medical and world changes through the last eighteen years. More than once Stephen was called from her side by his pager for emergency surgery, and at one particular occasion, to perform a surgery on something she recalled from peeking into his medical books as a child was inoperable. When she said as much to his brother, he just kissed her on her head and whispered "I found a way". She was very proud of him.

Stepen did cut back rather dramatically on his working hours to be with his sister, but he didn't regret it. She kept to that she wanted to go to college, her goal from so long ago, and he knew that he'd be able to go back to the OR full time when she did. For now, he was content to take the surgeries no one else could perform, and to spend the rest of his time as a big brother. He ended up missing the talk he had been looking forward to, but his sister wouldn't have let him drive there in an exciting fashion anyway.

Reckless, she called his driving style one afternoon after speaking to Christine, and she refused to hear of him continuing in the same fashion. Different from any critique from Christine, this time he listened. Not until after trying to argue the point, but he did listen. "I have managed this far" had been his last attempt, but she had merely glared. "You don't know" she had insisted "you might be running out of time. One more time and it might be the time you get yourself killed or crippled!"

He thought such considerations frivolous and silly, of course, there was no such thing as being due for an accident and statistics and probabilities did not work that way, but he did drive more sensible in the future, a point which was merely driven home when his little sister was finally allowed home, and was frequently in the car.

It became a common sight after she got better and he got back to work, to find "miss Strange" in the hospital, sitting often outside the OR, waiting for her brother, and to see him at his frequent talks, one arm around her protectively while he mingled, quickly became the new norm. It was soon a standing joke at the hospital, that if you wanted to catch Strange after surgery, wait for him with his sister, as that'd be the first place he went after scrubbing off afterwards. She mellowed him out, made him see more sense and tore down some of his walls, like no one else could.

Stephen was happier than he had been before in his life, his sister living in his spare room and studying to get the final grades she needed for college. As he helped her come to terms with her life again, he finally got some perspective on his own. Maybe in a way, he started to _have_ one again, besides only being a doctor. As a surgeon, scientist, neurospecialist, doctor _and brother_ , he was more complete than as merely a neurosurgeon, and even he and Christine started to mend.

When Alicia Strange finally moved away to study, two years after having awokened from her coma, she did so just in time for preparations as she gave her bedroom up to a little girl her brother loved just as much as he did her; her first niece. They were both the bridesmaids as he married Doctor Palmer, when she finally accepted him, that is.

Very pleased with what it saw, the TARDIS sent itself back home.

 _This might not be entirely canon use of a TARDIS, but come on, this is a story which features a friendship between a cloak and a carpet. Cut me some slack. Besides, big brother Stephen is_ adorable _._

 _I do not own anything you recognise - I don't even know where some of it is from!_

 _TapTap_


	6. December 6:th

**December 6:st - The Doctor Can See You Now**

The TARDIS waited for the Doctor to make up his mind where to go. Two days earlier, while the Doctor was busy on his own, it had gone to visit an old friend, the Cloak of Levitation, and had found it in the New York Sanctum, same as during the last visit.

What the TARDIS had not been expecting though, was the Cloak to be out and about, not in its glass case. It had chosen a new human, which hadn't happened in years. Not, the TARDIS thought, for a large number of regenerations of itself and its Doctor.

The human had been asleep, as humans frequently were, but the Cloak had told it enough for the TARDIS to figure that this was an interesting human. Someone, perhaps, that his Doctor could actually talk with without needing to hold back. Certainly he'd be experienced enough, having travelled through dimensions and wearing a sentient Cloak.

Making its mind up sooner than the Doctor, the TARDIS initiated a travel on its own, bringing its Doctor to meet the Cloak's Doctor. Maybe even, if this went well, it'd introduce this human to Mrs Hudson's Doctor as well. He reminded it of that surrogate son of hers, so maybe her Doctor would like him.

Ignoring the alarm from his Doctor, the TARDIS parked itself neatly in the Sanctum, pleased as the Cloak came flittering in greeting, from where it had been playing with the lights. The TARDIS was pleased to see that this new "Master of the Sanctum" the Cloak had chosen weren't attempting to clip its wings, so to speak.

They decided to spend some more time catching up, as Doctor Who and Doctor Strange met and tentatively started to have a somewhat awkward conversation, as they attempted to figure out why their relics wanted them to meet up.

As the TARDIS listened to the recollection of the Cloak from a long bygone era, it reminised. It was not that long ago that it had been regenerated with its Doctor. It was fond of the current version, for sure, but it liked how it had been before. So much so, in fact, that the TARDIS pondered influencing things just a little bit, next time, making sure they went back to the Eleventh Doctor, after the Tenth. Eleven normally came after ten, anyway, come to think of it. Honestly, it was like the universe couldn't count!

"What _kind_ of Doctor are you, really?" Doctor Strange's slightly offended question brought the TARDIS back to the present, as the CLoak gave up on being draped over its roof to fly down to its new human, draping itself across his shoudlers in an attempt to calm him down.

"I am The Doctor" The Doctor replied with a slight grin, his red converse snapping smartly against the hardwood flooring. "Not an MD, then, I'm guessing" Doctor Strange, who absolutely was an MD, noted somewhat grouchely. The TARDIS made a mental note to ask Mrs Hudson what an MD was, and if she knew whether or not her doctor was one. If he was, maybe that'd go better.

 _In this, the Doctor is number Ten, but it is reminiscing back to Doctor Eleven, because... you guessed it: magic! I am just giving them an excuse how to give us Matt Smith back, that's all: The TARDIS did it! (And I while not the most avid Dr Who watcher, I am not a Capaldi fan, so I do hope you'll forgive me from magicing up the timeline.) Also, the TARDIS and the Cloak can talk to each other. Of course they can. It is just that kind of story._

 _I do not own anything you recognise - I don't even know where some of it is from!_

 _TapTap_


	7. December 7:th

**December 7:th Carpet vs Cloak**

Doctor Strange watched his work with a measurement of amusement. Even half a year ago, this situation would have caused him a fair amount of pain, but he was soundly beyond it now, so much so that he found it funny. He also found it funny to imagine the expression of his former self's face, had anyone told him that a year later, he'd be preparing for Christmas by baking Christmas cookies. By hand. Himself. Oh the _horror_.

Still chuckling at that mental image, Stephen looked down on his handiwork once again. He had made several large batches, because he had found that he enjoyed the process immensely. It reminded him of the precision he had needed, in another life, without beeing too demanding and through that frustrating. He had attempted to decorate this lot, though, and that had most decidedly been a mistake.

Idly wondering if inviting Christine over to decorate Christmas cookies would appeal to her, it was some testament to the oddity of his new life, that he did not even look up at a swoosh, crash, then a loud bang and finally another swoosh, coming from the hallway.

Of course, that Doctor Strange ignored the noises didn't keep the events in the hallway which caused them from happening. The swooshing sounds had been the TARDIS appearing and then leaving again, for reasons only known to itself (and likely to Mrs Hudson, but who would think to ask her?) the crash had (as Doctor Strange had correctly assumed) been the Cloak knocking something down over the railing in the hall, and the loud bang... that had been something else entirely.

While it didn't alert Doctor Strange, his Cloak got interested in the sound. Partly this was because it had him at a disadvantage - Stephen took the sound to come from something his cloak did, the cloak knew that it did not - and partly it was just a very curious cloak.

This, of course, lead to the cloak investigating, soundlessly floating down the stairs, only to freeze mid-air at what it saw. Down on the floor, where the TARDIS had left it, was a... carpet, floating just as curiously in the other direction, checking out the noise _this_ magical piece of fabric was innocent of. The carpet, of course, had caused the loud bang by pulling another carpet out from under a suit of armour.

After staring, entirely silently, at each other for some moments, both carpet and cloak flew away in alarm. The Cloak surprised its chosen human by cuddling up to him in a most unusual fashion for such a warm room as a well isolated kitchen with a working oven, and the carpet promptly hid in a closet, chosing its hiding place so well that the master of the Sanctum didn't even know it was there until two days later.

 _This just had to happen. I am making myself crack up so often with this story! As you might have noticed, I am building up towards some pretty special events!_

 _I do not own anything you recognise - I don't even know where some of it is from!_

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	8. December 8:th

**December 8:th - So Much Mulled Wine**

Doctor Strange was reading in his bedroom when he heard a call from a voice he could identify after a moment. The Doctor who wasn't a medical doctor, just an unspecified one without a first name. With a sigh, he resigned himself to rising.

He found the other Doctor in the hallway, talking to the cloak as if it could reply, much as he himself did on occasion. The difference being, of course, that the other man didn't seem at all concerned about the fact that someone had entered and found him talking to a cloak.

"Doctor Strange" the not quite stranger greeted with a grin, sidestepping the curious cloak trying to get closer as he talked "I am sorry for disappearing so suddenly last time - a crisis appeared". The TARDIS blinked happily at the cloak behind him.

Doctor Strange stepped up to collect his cloak, judging that The Doctor needed to be saved. "I know the sort of thing" he assured the other doctor, more gracefully than he would have before the injury. He had since learnt the value of not judging good people needlessly.

"Is there any tea?" The Doctor perked up at the idea. "No" Strange replied, with some inner bemusement at this British obsession. "But there's mulled wine. Christmas cookies, too. If you like that kind of thing, feel free to decorate them!" At the other man's raised eyebrow, he held his hands up. Even when just held still, they visibly trembled. "Nerve damage" he explained, a bit in passing, as he led the other doctor into the kitchen, cloak still trying to touch him. Just a few months ago, he would have been too bothered to allude to it so casually, but he was now.

"Cake!" The Doctor exclaimed as he entered the kitchen, seeing the chocolate cake which was cooling at the kitchen table. "Oh, that was an experiment" Doctor Strange noted absently, stepping up to the stove and reaching for a wine bottle. "It is probably cool enough for you to have some, if you like tripple chocolate". The expression on the other man's face confirmed that he _really_ did like tripple chocolate.

Doctor Strange stood at the stove, watching as the other doctor fought with his cloak, which kept wanting to poke at him, mulling wine, pouring suger into the heating drink. Of course, by the time Doctor Strange came back to the table with two large cups of warm, mulled wine, and the Doctor had managed to finally cut himself some of the cake, the Cloak was draped over his shoulders and the man was adorable about it.

At the first cup of mulled wine, the two doctors talked about what they did, in a polite but superficial manner. At cup two, they had moved on to, in a slightly more friendly fashion, discussing infinite dimensions.

"Oh, but dimensions" The Doctor was saying. "There's an endless amount. I just stay in this one". "Good plan" Doctor Strange agreed, drinking the last from his cup and rising to go get some more, mulling the wine slightly less properly this time, shuddering at the thought of his brief brush with another dimension. Namely, dying, over and over again - he'd rather not repeat that experience. Any more, anyway.

Drinking their third mug, the kind you'd normally drink hot cocoa or the like in, now with decidedly higher alcohol content that the two previous servings, as Stephen payed the process far less attention this time, they discussed portals through time and through space.

"Sling ring?" The Timelord raised an eyebrow characteristically, the cloak now abandoning him to curl up in Stephen's lap. "Can you travel through time with that?" At a headshake, he went into a detailed explanation of why timetravel had rules.

At cup four, Doctor Strange was caressing his still present cloak, and his fellow doctor was getting slightly maudlin about the TARDIS.

"Time" The Doctor explained to the other doctor, of the MD variety, over cup five, "does not move in a straight as arrow fashion, like you might think. It is all more of a wibbly wobbly thing, time, and you humans are not even close yet to understanding it. It doesn't seem broken to me, either, so you probably got away with it. You weren't meddling with decided events, so you be calm". After that, by cups six, seven and eight, the conversation did not make a whole lot of sense any longer.

When Doctor Strange finally went up to his bedroom, and the Doctor moved into the closest guest room, they were both up for some pretty spectacular hangovers the next day. The TARDIS blinked for itself in the hallway, and the cloak flew over to its human's bedroom, lowering itself down over the already sleeping human, who had forgotten his blankets.

 _My Doctor Who consultant tells me that the Tenth Doctor, played by David Tennant, is very fond of cake, and isn't that fond of kittens, until they're climbing all over him, when he is suddenly decidedly fond and completely adorable. Never say I don't listen to my expert! :)_

 _I do not own anything you recognise - I don't even know where some of it is from!_

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	9. December 9:th

**December 9:th - Hangover and Dealing With Two Playful (Magical) Pieces of Cloth**

Stephen woke to such a terrible headache that he for a moment wondered if the headache itself had woken him up; that was, until he heard the series of crashes.

By some coincidence, or simply as an effect of the rising level of noise, both Doctors stepped out into the large entry hall at the same time, and both stopped dead at the scene which greeted them.

In the middle of the hallway, surrounded by the mess they'd made, next to a peacefully blinking TARDIS, was Doctor Strange's Cloak, playing a game of fetch with a large, magic carpet. It was bizarre.

"Cloak!" Doctor Strange chastised, frowning. He rubbed his aching head. The Doctor, meanwhile, was glaring at the TARDIS; he just knew it was the culprit behind bringing the Carpet here in the first place.

With a painful exuberance, at least to its hangover human, the Cloak flew over to its doctor, weaving around him and seeking to share its excitement. "Yes, yes" Stephen relented somewhat "it is marvelous that you've found a friend, but do please be a bit more careful with the furniture". With a bit of an up-and-down motion, the cloak took off again, returning to its new friend. The Timelord grimaced and seemed to consider making a run for it, but he did not.

"Breakfast?" Doctor Strange offered the next moment, making them both wince. Mere minutes later, they were both back in their respective beds. They both needed a bit more sleep. Or a year of it.

It was already mid-day when Stephen entered the entrance hall again. To his surprise, it was entirely tidy, silent, and empty.

With a suspicious frown, he continued into the kitchen, only to stop as if paralyzed in the doorway. The kitchen was not _that_ much of a mess, really, not compared to what it could have been, but it contained a cloak and a carpet, both seemingly preoccupied with trying to mix frosting. Whatever happened to him later in life, he would never get rid of that mental image, out of pure shock.

Shocking or not, he _was_ the sorcerer who had sent Dormammu running from the earth, and it took _a lot_ more than two magical pieces of fabric attempting to bake to shake him. That was why the Timelord entered just under an hour later, and found the Sorcerer making Christmas candy, assisted by a Cloak and a Carpet, both of which keeping busy handing him ingredients. The Doctor paused at the door, and then he asked the obvious question. "Can I help?"

* * *

"Wibbly, Wobbly, Timey, Wimey". The Doctor mumbled out loud as he carefully spritsed the words onto one of the Christmas cookies. On his suggestion, Doctor Strange was making a second cake, as well gingerbread, letting the cloak and carpet handle the cake cutters.

The Timelord, of course, was the natural choise for applying all of the frosting, being the only one with steady hands, so to speak. It had only taken a short experiment for them to decide that while capable with carrying bags of flour and even some light stirring, fabric grips were not capable of of applying frosting unless you wanted it to cover what you applied it to completely.

The TARDIS was watching them contentedly from the hallway as they baked. It knew the two pairs would make for the best of friends. It had watched, while the Doctors had slept, as the new friends had started to tidy up the mess in the hallway, the cloak very decided upon keeping the promise to its doctor.

As the Doctors had slept on, the Carpet and the Cloak had played on, moving upwards in the house, playing what the TARDIS could only conclude to be a cloth-version of "hide and seek".

It peeked in through the kitchen door, to where Doctor Strange assisted his cloak in stirring something in a pot, while the carpet rested against the Timelord's chair, watching him apply frosting with great concentration. It seemed he was going a little bit crazy with the frosting, perhaps looking forward to Christmas, or at least the cake cooling over at the workbench.

The scene was peaceful and full of holiday spirit, and the TARDIS felt full of hope for the holiday season. Now all it needed to do was talk to Mrs Hudson. It felt confident she would know how to proceed with the next part of their plan.

Late in the night, after it had dropped off the Doctor back with his companion in London, it swished over to Mrs Hudson, leaving the carpet with her. They talked for a few minutes, the carpet listening to them carefully - at least it seemed so, it was sometimes hard to know what carpets were thinking - and then the TARDIS left, secure in its knowledge that Mrs Hudson would know exactly what to do.

It was very late, both her boys asleep in their beds - unusual as that might be, but they had finished a case only hours ago - as Mrs Hudson carried the sleepy carpet up into their living room, smiling as she let it spread out in the warmth before the fire. Oh, yes, this Carpet and Sherlock would get along just fine. They were both very curious.

 _The TARDIS is matchmaking... on several levels. It is very thorough. Also the Cloak wanted to experiment with what it could or could not do in the kitchen, an idea which rose in the comments of one of my other stories, and the Carpet encouraged it, so it happened here! Thank you to Sudoku for helping me develop this idea!_

 _I do not own anything you recognise - I don't even know where some of it is from!_

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	10. December 10:th

**December 10:th - The Cloak Is A Cat Today**

"Where did that carpet come from?" John looked in puzzlement at the new hearthrug lying just in front of Sherlock's chair. The consulting detective was rolling a small ball towards it, and instead of it going straight into the fireplace, it returned to him every time.

"Maybe it came here itself" Sherlock suggested, tossing the ball higher. John almost dropped his cell phone when the carpet moved in order to toss it back. Sherlock looked back down onto his cell phone, kicking the ball back to the playful carpet. To John's "Sherlock!" he merely replied "when you have eliminated all the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. The carpet is alive. And it likes games".

* * *

"What do you _want_?" Doctor Strange noted with some irritation, looking down at his hands, where his cloak was trying to do _something_ , though he was not sure of _what_ that something was. What _he_ was trying to do was read a book, and his cloak was making it neigh on impossible.

It tried to press closer again, but as soon as he moved his hand, it followed. Alnost as if it wanted to be... oh. Gently, he lowered his hand, petting the soft fabric. He could have sworn that the cloak had started to purr that very moment, if cloaks could have purred. Oh, well, at least that was better than the day it was a bomb plane, he supposed. He went back to his reading with a smile, continously stroking the cloak draped over his lap.

* * *

"Mrs Hudson!" "Oh good morning" Mrs Hudson was puttering around the kitchen like she was wont do do, tidying up. John noted that she had already left a large platter with Christmas cookies for them, one strangely decorated with the words "Timey Wimey" and several with even stranger circles. "Thank you" he noted "but you did not need to". "Oh it was no trouble" she seemed slightly amused for some reason. John coughed. "Mrs Hudson, the new carpet, have you seen... well, it... have you see it yet?"

"Yes, well it will be good for Sherlock, dear" she noted, her voice decided. When he opened his mouth to press the issue, she commented softly "sometimes, John dear, there are things you do not need to understand". Then she winked at him, opened the microwave, closed it again with a soft sound of distress, and left the kitchen. John sighed, and went for his Saturday shift at the clinic. Everyone around him was mad.

 _Someone wondered where all the baked goods went - the answer is that they share them around! ;)_

 _I do not own anything you recognise - I don't even know where some of it is from!_

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	11. December 11:th

**December 11:th - Women Can be Condescending**

Doctor Strange lit the third advent candle, humming for himself. It was Sunday, and Christine was off today, so she had promised to come over. He was very much looking forward to it. He was mulling some more wine, though a more reasonable amount this time, not wanting a repeat of last Wednesday. Especially not with Christine there. He didn't want to risk making a fool of himself.

He got one of the cakes out, grateful that his new friend had painted designs on it already. Christine had agreed to come over to talk, so he didn't want to do anything too date-like, but he did hold some hope, and he wanted to make her feel welcome.

Right on time, there was a knock at the door, and Stephen had to chuckle despite his nerves as his cloak took off to go and open the door. He walked out into the entry hall to greet her, and smiled as she entered, looking a bit unsure as she took note of the interiour, but she gave him a hug and asked him how he was, so he hoped it didn't unsettle her too much.

"So" she noted, as they had settled down into the kichen, the Cloak draping itself around the back of Stephen's chair in silent support, and she put cake on both of their plates. He held back a frown at the overprotective behaviour. "So?" He prodded after a few moments, when nothing more was forthcoming.

"I just thought... when you said you returned to New York. Stephen" her voice was pleading, but also the tiniest bit condescending, though he doubted that she meant or even knew about that "you could lecture. Teach! Help others with research by contributing expertise! I thought after all that... whatever it was, you were done with that cult!" "It is not a cult" he petted the cloak, which had crept forward over his shoulder. "It is a cult" Christine sighed "I know you wanted to save your hands Stephen, but you do not need to do all this! You could still matter even if you're no longer a surgeon!"

"I know" he noted, feeling slightly defensive now. He had expected them to talk things out, not a lecture against what he'd chosen to do with his life. "I am pleased with what I am doing now, Christine" he tried to reassure her. He just wanted her to stop thinking of him as one of her pity cases. "I am fine".

"Stephen, you're in denial" she countered, frowning at him "and you're obsessed, just like you were before. You need help, Stephen, if you'd only accept it!" "I do, but when I do I ask for it" he told her, sighing.

"When was the last time you asked anybody for help?" She interrogated him, making him sigh. "The day before yesterday". At her encouraging gaze, he shrugged "you didn't think I made those designs on a cake, did you?" She looked at it in surprise. "I figured it was just bought" she replied, blinking. He shook his head. He really had changed so that she didn't know him any more. Maybe he didn't know her, either. But he did know she was all for the pity cases, and he refused to be one.

* * *

John cursed at the phone. All those semi-failed dates were disheartening. This girl had taken exception of him being called in for an emergency surgery. Who yelled at you for something like that? He looked up at a slight sound, and noted Sherlock playing fetch with his magic carpet again, looking utterly unbothered. Crumbs, his flatmate's life was so easy. Why did people date, anyway?

 _Christine isn't all that accepting in this story. If that is not to your liking, then please forgive me, and I hope you can take comfort in the love story that is "Doctor Strange, Doctor Palmer and the Cloak of Levitation", which I just updated and in which they do get along splendidly. I just thought I'd explore the idea that they have too much bad blood between themm and too many new differences for them to work out. Also I am writing this for my friend and she likes slash. So there's that._

 _I do not own anything you recognise - I don't even know where some of it is from!_

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	12. December 12:th

**December 12:th - People Can Be Weird**

Sherlock played a Christmas tune on his violin, watching as the carpet slept (assuming carpets could sleep, as he was not an expert in the field of sentient household items) before the fire, and listening with half an ear to Mrs Hudson's pottering about in their kitchen. It was for her benefit, of course, he played such an inane tune instead of some nice, pleasant Bach.

John had been in an awful mood lately, and it worsened every time he came back from a date with those awful girlfriends of his. Where did he find such uninspiring specimens of the human female form, anyway? So _boring_!

As the bow came to a screeching halt on the strings of his violin with this thought, he caught a line from Mrs Hudson's conversation with someone over the phone, a line which made him set the violin down and listen closely. "...is very kind of it, Doctor. Has it told you more about the man? Oh, you met the good doctor yourself, Doctor? What's he like?" She seemed to listen for almost a minute, and then exclaimed "oh how sweet! He would be _more_ than welcome here, I am sure. No, Doctor Watson is a sweet boy, he would be good for anyone! Sherlock, of course, is quite a personality, but he is a wonderful boy at heart, too!"

Staring at the door, Sherlock ran through possibilities in his mind. Mrs Hudson was speaking to a doctor, about _another_ doctor, and neither one of them were John. John would be puzzled at this point, of course, and half-heartedly jump to the completely wrong conclusion, but Sherlock was not a _normal_ person, content with a boring little mind. _His_ mind saw possibilites.

It helped, naturally, that Sherlock knew very well how much more there was to Mrs Hudson compared to what people _thought_. Sometimes, he was amazed at how John didn't see it. How she was almost as calm as either of them would be when held at gunpoint. How nothing at all baffled her (though she didn't like thumbs in the fridge) and how, most telling of all, a flying carpet appearing in the flat one day didn't even surprise her. Sherlock had even caught her talking to it. He suspected she had been the one to bring it there in the first place.

As he tenderly put the violin back into its case, he felt more than saw or heard how the carpet started to come to, flying up beside him like an eager dog. It reminded him of Redbeard, but not in a bad way. He had missed the quiet companionship of a kind John couldn't provide.

Returning to the fireplace, carpet in tow, Sherlock reached out for a box he'd gotten earlier, and dropped the pile of dominoes onto the carpet, smiling with unusual sincerity as he saw it perk up at the game. It was... pleasant.

 _Bach is rather dramatic and playing him on a violin would require quite s bit of swooping, so I'd imagine Sherlock would like him! Mrs Hudson, of course, enjoys the pretty and seasonal more, and while he hates to admit it, he is a softie really!_

 _I had way too fun with using the_ over _using the title doctor for most_ everyone _in this chapter!_

 _I do not own anything you recognise - I don't even know where some of it is from!_

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	13. December 13:th

**December 13:th - Men Can Be Oblivious**

John sipped his tea as he read the morning paper, looking through it with half an eye on mysteries and unsolved cases, out of pure habit. With the blog a still growing phenomenon and an increasing number of detectives from the Yard more than willing to cooperate with John on hand to smooth things over, it was not as important to look any more as cases came to _them_ , but the habit stuck with him.

Sherlock, according to his new habit, was seated by the fire, dropping random objects for the playful carpet to catch. John still couldn't figure that thing out. And it was utterly perplexing how Sherlock did not seem to care. "Ho-ho" was the standard sound of Mrs Hudson coming to check up on them, once more bringing Christmas cookies decorated with peculiar symbols which intriguingly didn't seem to intrigue Sherlock in the slightest. John sighed as he greeted their landlady. No one made any sense these days.

"How did your date go last night, dear?" the old lady asked immediately, making him wince. "She spent the entire night sour because I had to cancel the last one because of that surgery" he replied, taking a sip of tea. "I don't think I'll be seeing her again".

"Well, there will be others, dear" Mrs Hudson responded in a motherly fashion, smiling at him. "In fact, there is someone I'd like you to meet, dear. Another doctor, like yourself" she said encouragingly. "A nice doctor, would that not be good? You could talk about medical things together, dear!" John held back a grimace.

"Thank you, Mrs Hudson, but I'd rather not go on a blind date. And there are many kinds of doctors, that's no guarantee we would get along - Sarah was one, remember?"

Mrs Hudson gave him a stern look. "You are far too young to give up, young man!" She berated him. He just smiled politely and went back to his breakfast. Mrs Hudson went to call the TARDIS again, to pick up in their plans where they'd left off last night. Maybe it and its Doctor had some plans on how to set the retalcitrant boys straight.

* * *

Sherlock listened to Mrs Hudson lecturing John with little interest. It was elementary that this was connected somehow to the phone call from yesterday, and John was more vacant than usual if he thought he could escape a plan made by Mrs Hudson. Chuckling internally, he put the bow to his violin for some cheerful Vivaldi, just to be contrary.

 _Mrs Hudson tries to set her boys up but they won't behave. Does the Tardis have any ideas?_

 _I do not own anything you recognise - I don't even know where some of it is from!_

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	14. December 14:th

**December 14:th - The Cloak Is Not Well Behaved Today**

 _A note before we start: Hello, my dear readers!_

 _We are now at the halfway mark of this series, and thank you all so much for your enthusiasm! Especially to those of you who have commented, followed or favourited. Your support means a lot! Inspiration is crucial to keep up with such a tight writing schedule as every day, and nothing helps so much with that as good readers, so thank you again!_

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Stephen swore as he looked down at the text alert. One of the things he decidedly hadn't liked with Christine, especially when he'd just hurt his hands, was that she sometimes was somewhat entitled. He was not one to speak, of course, the person he had used to be had been enormously arrogant, and for all he knew, he might be plenty arrogant still. That did not in any way make it less annoying when she made decisions over his head. How he was positive she did it only for his own best, didn't take all of the irriation away, either.

He sighed, and got dressed, sticking to his signature blue robes. Christine wrote that she was coming off the night shift at ten am, and was coming over with West to talk together about Stephen's future career. What part of "I am happy where I am" did she not get, exactly? Seriously, he knew she was far smarter than this.

After breakfast, he called his cloak down from where it was sulking near the cieling, probably missing its friend the carpet (there was a joke in that statement somewhere, but he couldn't be bothered to make it, even internally) and sat down with a book to await the arrival of two people he really didn't want to see today. Or ever again, possibly.

Because of course, Christine hadn't given him any choise in the matter, at all. He had seen it coming for a while now, but he finally knew for sure, that the two of them would never make it. It was probably his fault - was definitely his fault, actually - but they had gotten their chance and had let it slip out of their hands. They were too different now, their values and ideals completely separate. It was over, and it would stay over. When thinking about it, he realised he did not even miss her that much any more. He had, in the beginning, but he was not sure when it had begun to fade. He only knew that it was.

Stephen rose at the knock on his front door, not thinking much of it as the cloak draped itself across a chair instead of coming with him, and steeled himself before opening one of the large, gate-like double doors to the Sanctum.

Nick looked just like he had the last time Strange had seen him, in the OR; the same as ever. Christine looked tired. Stephen ignored his former colleagues' reactions to his clothing. Shock for West, disapproval for Christine.

"Come in" he invited them, not bothering to be bad-tempered about it. He was beyond snark at this point. He noted that Christine gave his Cloak a disapproving look where it lay, making West look as well, but he ignored it, politely asking them both to sit down.

Halfway through a Christine-lecture about how he could teach now, which he presumed West was supposed to support, as another neurosurgeon, he realised that West was staring at the back of his chair. There was nothing there. It was only when West moved his eyes to a bookcase, that Stephen realised the prank. The cloak had moved, and West was desperately trying to remember if he hadn't seen the cloak in the chair. Stephen held back a smile, and went back to peacefully ignoring Christine.

Some minutes later, when West had almost gotten over the cloak-moving-incident, Christine changed tone. "Stephen? How about we go into the kitchen? Wouldn't that be more comfortable?" Perhaps hoping to get his attention by moving from the larger sitting room, drawing him away from the proximity of his books, Christine got up without waiting for his reply, only to stop short, disoriented. Where she had been sure the door had previously been located, there was now a heavy, maroon, velvet drape. She had never seen it before. Neither had Stephen, but _he_ recognised a crimson sliver behind it, and he appreciated the "hand" given him by his cloak.

"Actually" he suggested smoothly "you must be beat after a long shift. I am sure you both want to go home and rest. How about we speak later on? In the new year, maybe?" His Cloak, of course, chose that moment of attracting the eye of West by gently flowing in a non-existant breeze, in yet another location. The brain-surgeon practically fled, barely even stammering an agreement to the conventient excuse offered him by Strange before leaving, giving a bemused Christine no other choise than following.

"Thank you" Stephen told the empty room as he shut the door behind them, not doubting that the cloak, no matter where it had gotten off to, heard him perfectly well. He spent the rest of the day reading, caressing his cloak gratefully when it deigned to accompany him. Even Sorcerers needed a good wingman, and he had the _best_ one.

 _Or, the cloak just doesn't like West much. It is a very intelligent cloak._

 _I wrote this rather high-handed behaviour on Christine's part working from the theory that as a person inclined to take care of people too much, she might take decisions "for the good" of others, and on occasion be a little annoying that way, if she is sure her decision is better for them than their is. Like Stephen and her conviction that he is deluded. I hope that makes sense._

 _I do not own anything you recognise - I don't even know where some of it is from!_

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	15. December 15:th

**December 15:th - Kidnapped**

Stephen had discovered that he liked to potter around in the kitchen. Now that he had time - on days when there wasn't any potentially world-devouring crises, anyway - he took the chance to work in the kitchen. Baking bread, making stews, all of those things were comforting in their familiarity.

Not that he had used to cook a lot, before his accident. He had not. But especially baking reminded him acutely of surgery, only not in a painful way. He had gained distance, over time, was happy where he was, and so, the memory wasn't anything like the unhealed, infected, festering wound it had once been. With that change, cooking became not a painful or unpleasant reminder, but a comforting rutine. He could still not deal with sharp blades, but there were plenty of others passing through the Sanctum who could, and novises were sent to do such chores for him. He managed.

He had started to eat porridge in the mornings - no knives needed, and plenty tasty, he had somewhat grudgingly admitted to himself. He spent most of his days reading, studying increasingly obscure forms of magic, and divising new spells much to the alarm of his new colleagues and to the obvious pleasure of his loyal cloak. He trusted the cloak more than his human companions, especially in this matter, and so he continued at it.

He was playing catch with his deeply amused cloak, when the TARDIS showed back up. It was just under a week since its last appearance, but this time, no Doctor, nor any carpet (to the clear disappointment of the cloak) came out of it.

"What is the matter?" Doctor Strange asked it, as it blinked in a far too fast pace, not the peaceful twinkle it had emitted during the Great Bake Night. As one of the doors swung open, he entered, the cloak having let itself fall into a chair in disappointment.

He looked around, inside of the TARDIS, not noticing how the door shut itself behind him. It really was much bigger on the inside. Right about when he had established as much, he could feel the tell-tale sensation of magic. He could not pick up on any travels through dimension or even time, having become sensitive to it after having used the eye of Agamoto for so many time-loops, but he did feel the magic.

When it ceased, he opened the door and found himself in London. They were outside a building numbered "221B", and he could only conclude that he had been kidnapped by a magical artifact. Judging from the pleased blinking of the TARDIS, this had been the plan all along. With a sigh, he pulled out a spare sling ring from inside his robes and put it on.

Not wanting to be conspicous, he opened the door he assumed the TARDIS meant him to go through, into 221B Baker Street. With the smooth movements come from much practise, he opened a portal just as an older lady stepped out into the hallway he stood in. "Ho-ho! Sherlock is that you, dear?" Upon seeing him, she expressed no surprise, but merely smiled and greeted him with "Oh, Stephen, it is nice to meet you". "The same" he replied, too accustomed to the curious to be truly surprised, and stepped through the portal, closing it behind him. "Englishmen and their relics are a bit odd" he told his cloak, before he returned to his book.

 _I have noted before that one must be an idiot to be a sorcerer and not carry a spare sling ring, and I was glad to get that in here! Myself, I always make sure to have a good supply of spares!_

 _;D Tomorrow, Doctor Who meets Sherlock Holmes! Just in case you need something to look forward to in the Christmas stress._

 _I do not own anything you recognise - I don't even know where some of it is from!_

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 _To the guest Irene:_

 _I am thrilled to hear that you enjoy it! I hope you will like the next few chapters as well. As the focus shifts between the fandoms, the type of crossover it is listed as might change, as I cannot cross between three stories, so I hope you will always be able to find it!_


	16. December 16:th

**December 16:th - The Three Musketeers**

The Doctor stepped out of the TARDIS with some surprise. He had let it chose itself where to go, and now he stood inside a flat with a cozily burning fire. He truly had no idea why it had chosen to come here.

The next second, he realised exactly why as the magic carpet came flying in cheerful exuberance. The next moment, he decided that he might have very much to explain, as a little old lady turned around the corner and saw them. He was wrong, he realised the next moment, as she merely tutted about the state of his shoes and went on to talk to his TARDIS like they were the oldest of friends. Within minutes, it was clear to him that they _were_ , in fact, old friends.

Not wanting to intrude on the conversation between his TARDIS and the motherly woman who intoduced herself as "Mrs Hudson, dear, and you must be the Doctor! Well we've spoken before, dear", the doctor settled before the fire, letting the carpet challenge him to a game of dominoes. He couldn't help but wonder who had taught an ancient, magical carpet such a game. Whoever it was must be a bit crazy. He very much wanted to meet them.

It only struck him as he lost the second time (out of three games) that this room looked very little like an older lady's livingroom. The wallpaper was oldfashioned, but there were lab equipment of the kitchen table, a skull (he had already nodded to her in respect) on the mantelpiece and a pile of letters secured with a pocket knife to the wall.

"Who lives here?" He asked suddenly, making the older woman and the carpet look at him curiously. "Should we really be here?" He questioned further. "Maybe it would be wiser to move somewhere a little less out in the open". "Oh, there is no need, dear" Mrs Hudson assured him off-handedly, still smiling warmly in a kindly fashion. "John is not in today. Work at the clinic, you see".

Just as she finished explaining as much, a tall, darkhaired man appreared in the doorway, wearing only a slightly puzzled expression. The carpet immediately rose fromt he game - knocking a few pieces over in the process - and raced to his side, weaving around his legs like an affectionate pet welcoming its owner home.

"Oh, Sherlock dear. How was the morgue?" Mrs Hudson asked him. "Dead" he replied with no trace of humour in his tone. He seemed utterly undisturbed by the magical carpet swirling around him, and merely went to drop into the couch at the side of the room. The carpet would not have it, though, tugging at him until they found themselves together before the fire, leaving the TARDIS and Mrs Hudson to conspire over in their own corner. The DoctorsSpent the rest of the day there, accepting Mrs Hudson's offer of tea and comparing notes on the science of mortals and timelords with the man, whom Mrs Hudson - with a stern motherly reprimand about manners - belatedly introduced as Sherlock Holmes.

The Doctor found his company intriguing, but then again he always knew he had to like a man who played dominoes with a magical carpet, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. The doctor, of course, knew that it was, but he was not expecting such insights from a being with only the one heart.

 _Or the one where Sherlock, Doctor Who and most everyone else are insane: because all the best people are!_

 _No one knows, somewhat ironically, how many the three musketeers really are. Here, they might be two, or they might be five. Nobody knows!_

 _I do not own anything you recognise - I don't even know where some of it is from!_

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	17. December 17:th

**December 17:th - Kidnapped, Revisited (With Even Less Success)**

John looked at the kitchen bench with some consternation. A cake had appeared again, this time with utterly adorable, shaky writing on the top. He shook himself out of it. That was ridiculous. It was Mrs Hudson who had brought it up, surely, and finding anything she did adorable except in a strictly motherly fashion was simply potty. Maybe Sherlock's strangeness was finally getting to him...

Abruptly, John turned and walked through the doorway, trying not to think about it. He did manage to get his mind right off of it, because instead of empty air leading into their sitting room, he stepped right through the open door to the conspiring TARDIS.

He realised his mistake, of course, though he could not understand how it could happen. It did though, and since he had spent the last week living with his flatmate, and said flatmate's pet carpet which moved and liked to bask before the fire, he couldn't deny that curious things _did_ occur. He tried to open the door, which had swung itself shut behind him immediately, but it was locked. It opened after a few seconds of struggle, but they were no longer at Baker Street.

The door opened willingly now, revealing a large space. It looked like someone's living room, only a museum version of it. As John watched, he spotted movement. That was exactly when he decided that he didn't usually respond well to kidnappings, and there was no reason for him to be more cooperative only because it was a _magical_ kidnapping. He stepped back inside the TARDIS (or, the odd box he'd mistakenly stepped into, from his view), sat down on the floor, and awaited it giving up and taking him back home.

He hadn't been sat there much longer than five minutes, when there was a flicker in the open door, and a red cloak floated in, twirling different ways as if looking around before it finally came up towards him like a curious child... or a magic carpet.

"Hi" he greeted the floating garment, reaching out a hand as you would for a sniffing dog, before catching himself and lowering it. It came up and twisted around him, flowing between his body and one of his arms on its own, much like a cat might do with your legs to scent mark you. Before he could react, it instead folded itself over one of the panels in the strange place they were at. He was still staring at it as a voice - a voice which made John swallow without knowing why - called out some words he could not quite recognise, and it raced towards the voice.

More words, the door behing shut from the outside, and then the door was opened again by a tutting Mrs Hudson, complaining about her hip, as if him being kidnapped by magical boxes were an everyday event. She made him eat some cake, oddly smug when he said it was nice, and disappeared before he could get anything out of her.

What on earth was going on with everybody? Next Lestrade would show up asking them to solve the twenty year old disappearance of an octupus and Andersson would ask Sherlock out on a date. It was still a week to Christmas Eve, and everyone had already gone overboard on the treats, or something. With a sigh, John went back to bed. He hated being kidnapped.

 _So in my head, the cloak behaves like a cat and the carpet is more like a dog. If that makes any kind of sense at all._

 _I do not own anything you recognise - I don't even know where some of it is from!_

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 _To irene: Thank you very much! That means a lot. :)_


	18. December 18:th

**December 18:th - The Cloak is an Aligator Today**

Mrs Hudson was determined. And when Mrs Hudson was determined, things tended to happen. They just _did_. Not many realised that it did, but if they had only _observed_ , they'd notice how Sherlock had stopped shooting at walls or how John had stopped being bitter. When she put her mind to something, she eventually got her way.

Doctor Stange, though, he knew nothing of that. Had barely even met her during the brief kidnapping, something he put down to the excentricities of the TARDIS. The TARDIS had returned yesterday, seemingly to play with the cloak, but he had told it to clear off.

Today, the dimension seemed at peace, and Strange had curled up in bed with his laptop, answering emails - there were a ton of them, as he had ignored it for quite some time.

He had barely gotten through number two - a world-renowned specialist who had gotten his name from an old mutual colleague and wanted a second opinion (that was something he was more than happy to give, as it was a fascinating case) - when there was a pressure over his leg. Looking down, baffled, he spotted his cloak. As he attempted to pull free of it, it held tighter. It was not its normal behaviour. But he trusted his cloak, and so he let it snak up his legs as he ignored messages from Christine and checked several more medical inquiries.

It didn't follow him out as he went to meet the novice sent to help him chop up vegetables and venison for his evening meal, but he thought nothing of it. When it did arrive, its presence was announced by the novice shouting. Strange rolled his eyes and turned to look, seeing how the cloak pretended to go for the novice's toes. The Master Sorcerer chuckled and went back to cooking. That the novices never learnt. He would save the man if the screaming got too loud, he decided.

When he returned to his room later with a bowl of food and a smug Cloak, he settled back in with his laptop, opening it up from screensaver.

What he saw, as it came back to life, made him frown in surprise. Who had been at his computer? Oh, it must have been the cloak. He didn't mind, exactly, but it was undoubtedly a bit odd.

He scrolled down the page his Cloak had selected, reading with a puzzled smile. It was some sort of blog, written by another doctor. Who was he, and why was the cloak curious about him? Changing back to his email and returning to his meal, Stephen petted his possesive cloak, now curling up around his legs to the point where he couldn't have gotten up if he wanted to, content for now to ignore the puzzle.

 _The Cloak was inside the TARDIS yesterday... and it might have gotten a few ideas from it..._

 _I do not own anything you recognise - I don't even know where some of it is from!_

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	19. December 19:th

**December 19:th - Tea Solves Everything**

The teapot landed on the table with some force. Mrs Hudson tutted as she slammed some biscuits onto the coffee table as well, her face showing all the tell-tale signs of anger. "You could at least try" she told John in no uncertain terms "they'd be perfect for you, but you are as stubborn as Sherlock in a sulk!"

"Sherlock is not dating at all, Mrs Hudson" John attempted to defend himself "why don't you try to set him up with your doctor?" Mrs Hudson tutted again. "Sherlock doesn't need any other doctor than you, dear, and he is not the type to date. He doesn't need a partner - he's got a companion!" She gestured vaguely towards the carpet, sleeping draped over Sherlock's bare feet, in illustration of what she meant. Judging by how peaceful the scene was: Sherlock in his mind palace, the carpet... well, looking remarkably like an actual carpet at the moment, John had to concede her point.

He was about to come up with some other argument, when a loud swoosh sound almost made him jump, and the strange box which had kidnapped him appeared in the middle of the living room. Neither Mrs Hudson, Sherlock or the bloody carpet reacted.

"Good evening, dear" Mrs Hudson greeted, after placing a teacup gently on the table next to Sherlock. "And to you too" she added, when a man with red converse and a coat almost as swooping as Sherlock's stepped out of the blue police box. Was there even such a thing as those anymore?

"Mrs Hudson!" He man smiled charmingly, looking around the room with a large smile. "And Sherlock. Hello, Carpet!" He greeted casually, as if talking to animate inanimate objects were an everyday thing for him. It perked up at his voice, but didn't leave Sherlock.

"And you must be John!" The man stepped forward, offering his hand. "I wanted to say - it seems my TARDIS kidnapped you two days ago, I apologise. It has done that lately, must be a Christmas fab of some sort!"

"A what?" John frowned but politely shook the hand. "And who are you, exactly?" "A TARDIS, dear" Mrs Hudson cut in, having poured another cup of tea which she was now handing to the man "and this is The Doctor".

"Doctor who?" John questioned, but the man - who had just accepted the teacup after letting go of him - just grinned. "Exactly". Mrs Hudson had left them, John suddenly noticed, going back into the kitchen without a hint of matchmaking. That was odd. Then again, a man had just stepped up of a spontaneously appearing blue box and was now watching his flatmate -who he seemed to know, bizarrely enough - in a decidedly smittened fashion. Maybe it was just one of those days. Again. With a sigh, John went back to writing his blog.

 _I want to thank all my reviewers again: as with all of us writing, I believe, I am sometimes struck by doubt, wondering if whatever I've produced is worthwhile. All reviews help combat this malady, and I cherish them all, whether they're a long list of constructive critisism, a quote of an amusing scene or simply an "aww CLOAK" comment. As they say: reviews are love._

 _To the guest irene: thank you very much! It thrills me that you like it so much!_

 _I do not own anything you recognise - I don't even know where some of it is from!_

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	20. December 20:th

**December 20:th - The Three... I've Got Nothing.**

It was early morning, so early that Doctor Strange was still asleep in his big bed in the New York Sanctum, when the Cloak left its place, draped protectively over its human, above the duvet, and floated downstairs to identify the maker of the slight, familiar sound it had picked up. Or if it was magic it had sensed. It was hard to know what cloaks were thinking.

Just as the loyal cloak had expected, the TARDIS was blinking away in the hallway, seemingly having come on some errand. The Cloak entered through the open door, and let the TARDIS take them both to a Council of War. At 221B Baker Street - because now, Mrs Hudson had most decidedly had _enough_.

The TARDIS and the Cloak were by no means the first to enter the cozy little kitchen of Mrs Hudson. She herself sat at the kitchen table, The Doctor facing her. Sherlock was raiding the fridge, while the carpet lay on the floor, not long from where the TARDIS landed.

"That is everyone" The Doctor stated as the Cloak floated out of the TARDIS and over to inspect Mrs Hudson and Sherlock - someone who was most decidedly not _its_ mortal, but still _looked_ very much like him. It sensed no magicial connection, however, just two mortals who happened to look the same. He was obviously good to its friend the carpet though, so the cloak could only approve.

The carpet and the cloak swooshed around the TARDIS in a game of catch, while the humans talked. "John does need someone a bit more... intelligent" Sherlock said slowly, nibbling on one of Mrs Hudson's homebaked Christmas cookies. "He baked those, you know" The Doctor added, pointing to said cookie "you might like him".

"God knows they need someone who can cook" Mrs Hudson tutted, gaving Sherlock a look which was supposed to be reprimanding, but merely came out fond. He looked just as fondly back, the image of an affectionate favourite son, nevermind that he was _trying_ to look bored.

"What we need to decide is how to get them somewhere together" Mrs Hudson decided, discretely directing Sherlock towards the rest of the cookies "they are both so stubborn! And that man you have" she addressed the cloak "doesn't even stay where you put him!" The Cloak had stopped its game at that point and made a shrugging motion before draping itself accross one of Mrs Hudson's shoulders in apparent comfort.

"Well, I could bring John to this Strange person" Sherlock suggested. "I could do the same with Strange, I suppose. I could introduce them" Doctor Who offered. "Could you help with getting Strange in the right place?" He asked the Cloak. Its collar bobbed up and down a little from where it rested against Mrs Hudson's cheek. She was aleady petting it affectionately, and within minutes the carpet had draped itself across her lap, as well.

They talked about plausible ideas for over an hour, and Mrs Hudson rose - to the great dislike of her fabric companions - twice to put the kettle on, before they had a plan: and more importantly, a _lot_ of backup plans. They would need them.

With that, Sherlock and the Carpet returned to go lie on the couch for a couple of hours, and The Doctor Stepped into the TARDIS, taking the Cloak - which drooped sadly at Mrs Hudson until she promised they would meet soon again - with them to bring it back home on their way.

 _Something about this chapter, or perhaps this story in general, brings the frase "We are all mad here" to mind..._

 _A small note about capital letters and the Cloak and Carpet. You might have noticed I am capitalising it sometimes, but not always. It is as close as they come to names, and when using it in the capasity of names, I capitalise. But sometimes I am using it more generally, as I would "doctor", or "detective": as I would a title or a pronoun, with other words. Then I do not capitalise it. I hope this makes sense! And if anyone has any better ideas, do tell! (It is a bit tricky this! Same as the title Doctor and the word doctor.)_

 _As always, reviews are love._

 _I do not own anything you recognise - I don't even know where some of it is from!_

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	21. December 21:st

**December 21:st - "What's your name?" Or "The Three Doctors" Or "Doctors, Doctors Everywhere!"**

Doctor Strange lay in bed, reading. It was still only morning on the 21:st of December, and he was enjoying a very heavy, very pleasant book on the history of sorcery. Well, much of that history was rather grim, but this focused on old spells, and he was thoroughly enjoying it. Learning a few new (old) tricks certainly did not hurt either.

The cloak was draped over his legs, not twisting around them today in any fashion, but instead mimicking a normal blanket. For all that he deeply enjoyed all of its excentricities, it was a nice interlude.

It seemed that he thought too soon, however, as the cloaks's collar perked up in the middle of his reading as if listening to something - or simply thinking up something else to scare the novices with when one came over. Strange smiled internally at the thought. They were really asking for it whith how easily they were to startle. The cloak never actually hurt them, so he rarely intervened. Also, he'd like to know how long it'd take before they _realised_ themselves how it never hurt them.

He kept on reading, until the Cloak, now determined, started pulling at him. He looked at it with surprise. It often clung to him, in a myriad of different ways, but it had never pulled before. Not outside of battle, anyway.

"What is it?" He asked it, but it didn't stop tugging at him. He sat up, but that didn't do it either. Frowning, he rose, and as if encouraged, the cloak flew towards the closet, attempting to pull him along. It reminded him about the time when he was fighting Kaecilius in the Sanctum and it insisted on him walking towards the _right_ weapons.

Deciding to play along, he let it decide, raising an eyebrow when it insisted that he got dressed, but obeying none the less. It was a supremely powerful magical relic, after all. It probably knew something he did not. And he smiled at thinking how the old him would have bristled at that thought.

After he dressed, his loyal companion fell with ease around his shoulders, but did not stop with tugging him along. It did not do so with much force any longer, though, as he followed its directions easily enough. As they entered the grand entrance hall, he heard the "hello" called out by the other Doctor. The one with the kidnapping, blue box.

He stepped forward - not hindered in doing so by his cloak, he noted - to shake the other man's offered hand. "Happy Christmas!" The Doctor grinned. "No decorations up yet?" "Merry Christmas. No, I like to focus on the cake" Strange replied with a smile, teasing lightly knowing the other man's weakness for everything cake-related. "You shall have to teach your relic not to kidnap people" he added, sending the TARDIS a stern glance.

"Yes, I heard about that. My apologies... it has done that several times in December, must be something mystical going on. I trust it was not too much of an inconvenience?" "Not at all. I was seen by a older woman, though, I do not know if..." "Yes, she told me" The Doctor cut in, shrugging "she's a good friend. No harm done. But I came to invite you to a Christmas Adventure!" The Cloak immediately started to pull Strange towards the TARDIS. Both the doctors looked at it with a small degree of surprise, but they both obeyed, the TARDIS door opening by itself to let them in.

"This won't take a minute" The Doctor grinned and started touching buttons, Strange staying well away from them. It was indeed only 23 seconds later that they stepped out of the TARDIS... into that same hallway it had taken Strange to before. "I thought we'd visit Mrs Hudson first "Doctor Who explained. "She is the woman you ran into. She's been asking to meet you, if you don't mind.

At the other man's shrug, he walked up the stairs to an empty living room, and then suddenly the cloak left the neurosurgeon's shoulders. He understood why a second later, as it met its best friend the carpet mid-air. The other relic - if it was a relic - had seemingly been lying in front of the fire, just like the Cloak enjoyed doing, Strange noted.

"As, yes. It has gotten friendly with Mrs Hudson's - she's an old friend of my TARDIS, you understand - favourite surrogate son, you see. You'd like him, though I think he is at Barts today. It is a hospital here in London" he added for explanation. "He's a doctor, as well?" Strange asked, looking around the room with its worn wallpaper, English flag cushions and... was that bullet holes in the wall?

"No, he is a Graduate Chemist. His flatmate though, he is a doctor. A MD, like you" the Doctor held back another broad grin, just as the tell-tale "ho-ho!" sounded and Mrs Hudson appeared with a well-laid tea-tray, including "Cake!" She chuckled at The Doctor's exclamation, announcing "don't you want some tea, boys?" It might have been disguised as a question, but it really wasn't one. The two doctors sat down, while the two magical fabrics played out some sort of slow-motion air-battle behind them.

Mrs Hudson played mother, pouring them all tea while The Doctor cut the cake (to his great enjoyment). She praised Doctor Strange for the cookies the TARDIS had brought them, offered him to try some of hers, and was just interrogating him on how to care for magical fabric relics as John walked in with the shopping.

It said something about the usual life at Baker Street that John did not even bat an eyelid, instead just asking "Client?" and after getting two negative replies walking through to the kitchen as he put the groceries away. He emerged again after a few minutes and graciously accepted the teacup Mrs Hudson held out without even looking at the unknown man for longer than for a polite nod during which he registered nothing about him.

"John" The Doctor smiled, pretending to ignore the wink form Mrs Hudson. "This is Doctor Strange - former neurosurgeon and still an excellent consultant in his field. Stephen - this is Doctor Watson, former army captain as well as field surgeon. He is a GP now, and backup for Sherlock - Mrs Hudson's surgogate son I told you about".

"Hello" John smiled at the stranger and reached out a hand, his stomach dropping as the man replied. "Hi John". It was that same voice he had heard outside The Doctor's kidnapping "TARDIS", calling the sentient cloak away. A quick look around the room revealed that the cloak was indeed there, playing with Sherlock's carpet. Swallowing, mouth suddeny dry, he smiled at the man, noticing now, after hearing his voice (and could that knock a man down or what!) just how immensely attractive he was.

It took all of his determination not to blush as the handshake got far too long, and the other man's searching gaze did nothing to help. Behind them, Mrs Hudson and The Doctor smiled knowingly to each other, and the Carpet and Cloak high fived each other. How they managed that, neither having any hands, no mortal can figure, but they did.

 _This ran on for a bit - the characters were just never finished today. Of course Mrs Hudson is the greatest Matchmaker ever... While I suck at writing meet-cutes!_

 _I do not own anything you recognise - I don't even know where some of it is from!_

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	22. December 22:nd

**December 22:nd - Finally**

Strange stood before his closet, feeling absolutely and utterly foolish. He had never used to be this nervous about this kind of thing. It was utterly unheard of that he would sweat over his clothes choises before a date, in his previous life anyway, yet here he was. It was agony.

He tried to tell himself that it had just been a very long time since he last was out on a date with anybody, that he had changed since then, that... the truth, of course, was that he really _liked_ John.

They had mostly spent the tea drinking session (brits and tea!) in what he'd come to understand was John and his room-mate's (thought the brits called it flat-mate, it seemed flat was their word for apartment) apartment staring at each other and feeling awkward (at least, he certainly had, and John had been blushing almost constantly) while the Doctor and Mrs Hudson had spoken effortlessly about mostly nothing at all and plans for the upcoming holidays.

He could have kissed the motherly woman when she insisted that he and John meet up in London the following day for a date. John had looked like he wanted to object (hopefully against her intervention and not the date itself) so Stephen had hurried to accept. And now here he was, removing his robes for a black suit, trying to look normal for the first time... well, ever, really. He truly was nervous.

* * *

John fought not to squirm in his seat. Mostly for convenience, to settle things before he or Doctor Strange could object, he assumed, Mrs Hudson had decided they would meet at Speedy's. Not that Doctor Strange seemed to want to raise any objections; in fact, he answered in the affirmative so quickly that Mrs Hudson positively beamed at him. John hoped that was a good sign.

He had tried to reason with her afterwards, telling her that the former neurosurgeon couldn't possibly come to London again if he lived in New York City, but The Doctor had assured him that it was of no matter at all. Apparently that was more than an excuse, as he and his magical kidnapping box had still been there and Strange somehow managed to make his own way home anyway. Internally, the former army surgeon sighed.

The world was really becoming peculiar. Then he had started to tell Mrs Hudson that maybe they weren't a good match - but she had just cryptically said something about how he and _Sherlock_ made such a pretty pair and how Doctor Strange was just that little bit more... well - she had used the term "batting for that team". It had just left John feeling confused. Sometimes Sherlock and Mrs Hudson was more alike than two people in no way related had any right to be.

He didn't know what he objected about, anyway. He really _liked_ Doctor Strange. He just didn't like how high-handed everyone was being about them. (He really hoped there was a them.) Despite what everyone had always thought, he really wasn't _ever_ attracted to Sherlock. He was like an innocent kid in so many ways, and while great friendship material, not the stuff boyfriends were made of. He was the sort you asked to be your best man, not the type you asked to marry you. So he'd just told everyone how he was not gay and hoped they'd let it go - continuing to do so way after it became obvious that they wouldn't ever quit. It was a truth with modifications anyway.

While he certainly wasn't gay, he had always been proud to be bi - until he'd started to use the not gay excuse to make people shut up about him and his probably asexual flatmate, anyway. He knew, in that way he just did sometimes when it came to the Consulting Detective, that his best friend appreciated the defence. Sherlock didn't want to date. He wanted to stay at home with his experiments, his violin and his magical carpet. And John would never stop defending him. Ever.

He was janked out of his musings and back into his nerves by the bell at the door ringing. It was not a busy time of the day, so it was likely his _date_. He swallowed, and then he looked over.

It was strange, now that they were finally here. As soon as their eyes met, all of John's nerves just disappeared. Curious - and very welcome. Strange smiled spontaneously, something John returned, and walked straight over. He wasn't wearing those robes which while peculiar looked so good on him, but John didn't care. He rose and greeted him with a slightly hoarse "Hi there". Strange grinned back and simply replied "Hi".

 _Dun Dunn DUNN!_

 _I do not own anything you recognise - I don't even know where some of it is from!_

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 _To the guest irene: I am glad to hear that! I hope the resolution will be to your liking! :)_


	23. December 23:rd

**December 23:rd - Cloak and Carpet Cause Mayhem**

Mrs Hudson was baking. She had that in common with Doctor Strange, it seemed to the Doctor. It seemed like Strange had that in common with Mrs Hudson, to Sherlock.

Sherlock was currently lying on his couch, watching his blogger update his blog. John had been on a date with Doctor Strange yesterday. According to Mrs Hudson - he had been at Barts, himself (he was working on a small side project there) - they had been on said date _forever_ , but Strange had left immediately, not even coming up to say hi to Mrs Hudson or the Carpet, though his Cloak had spent the night.

Sherlock looked up, tracking the progress of the carpet and the cloak through the room. They currently seemed to be rearranging John's slippers. Maybe they'd do something about his horrid taste in jumpers next. With this thought, the consulting detective went back into his mind palace.

* * *

John looked down on his blog. He did not want to let anything on so that Sherlock could deduce him. As a result, he kept himself occupied and his eyes down. He could glance, though, and he frequently peeked at Sherlock's Carpet and Stephen's Cloak as they played around the flat. He listened as they tried to play with Sherlock - noticing how the detective petted the two magical fabrics even when thinking - and when they rearranged the books in the bookshelves together.

He finally had to rise and go have a look, when Mrs Hudson's squeak announced that their light mischief had made its way into the kitchen. He leant against the doorway and smiled as he watched the scene. It seemed lthey had stolen Mrs Hudson's flour. They both drooped and looked ashamed as she scolded them, but even the matriark was smiling. They were adorable.

* * *

They were adorable, that cloak and carpet, but Mrs Hudson was still feeling a bit in a mood. It had seemed that the date had gone well, but now neither one of the _three_ doctors were saying _anything_. The TARDIS' Doctor was just away, but John was silent and Doctor Strange seemed to be _both_. Those boys. She loved them, but sometimes they were completely and utterly infuriating.

Instead of telling _all_ of her boys off for being infuriating, (only Sherlock was well-behaved, and wasn't _that_ a change!) she busied herself baking and making Christmas dinner for tomorrow. She might not be one in the biological sense, but she _was_ a mother, and it took more than this for her to get her panties in a twist. She'd see the boys together yet, be they stubborn about it or not.

* * *

The Doctor entered Baker Street with the TARDIS, opening the TARDIS door and looking out over the flat. It was the TARDIS which had insisted on coming here, apparently deciding that it had yet a little more meddling to do.

Everyone seemed to be in a little bit of a tiff, and Doctor Watson was keeping his head down and staying silent. He decided to challenge the Cloak to a game of checkers and leave well enough alone.

He kept watching as the Sword of Excalibur left the TARDIS; it flew slowly around the room until it found the good doctor and blogger, and then flopped down across his lap with the flat side of the blade down as to not cut. The facial expression of the man - the sheer shock - was utterly priceless. With a soft laugh, the Doctor and the TARDIS went to talk to Mrs Hudson, leaving it to the consulting detective, his carpet and a cloak to watch the first tentative meeting between relic and soldier.

 _The cloak is a prankster today - and now it has backup from the magic carpet! And now we are introducing Excalibur from "The Librarian" - I am really not making this easy on myself with what kind of crossover it is, am I? The last week or so I have been forced to forcefully drag Tony Stark out of this story, and now the plotbunnies quite literally came at me with a sword. I obviously cannot control my characters - or my plotbunnies!_

 _I do not own anything you recognise - I don't even know where some of it is from!_

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 _To the guest irene: yes, I am stopping right there! Mrs Hudson did win in the end. :) You are welcome - I try to always reply! Thank you so much for reviewing: it is always lovely as a writer to get some input._


	24. December 24:th

**December 24:th - Christmas Eve**

It was Christmas eve. Mrs Hudson and John had had Christmas lunch together, while Sherlock opted out. He seemingly preferred to play his violin instead, much to the fascination of the relics. Excalibur, the Carpet and the Cloak had gathered around him, and he seemed more than pleased with their company.

During the afternoon they had the usual drinks with Molly and Lestrade, and after they had left John joined Mrs Hudson in the kitchen to prepare for dinner. He had confirmed that Doctor Strange - who of course was invited - would still be coming, and would still bake as he had promised to do, but that was all he had been willing to say about it. Mrs Hudson had tried to question Sherlock about what he would deduce about the situation, but he was either unsure or unwilling, because he said nothing either.

The Doctor was the first to arrive, coming straight into the kitchen after giving the silent detective a longing look. Doctor Strange's arrival a few moments later was announced with a slight crash as the cloak dropped everything it was currently doing to rush to him. "Hello" he greeyed his cloak, rubbing just under the collar as one would pet a cat "did you enjoy your playdate?" It didn't answer, too busy to wrap itself around him.

By then, they had all left the kitchen as a result of the disturbance, and Mrs Hudson, used to strangeness as she was from the TARDIS seemed unconcerned as she retrieved a collection of baked goods from the portal. Doctor Who stepped through it briefly to get the rest, and the two of them returned to the kitchen. John did not.

"John" Dotor Strange greeted, before they both took a step forward, suddenly kissing with fervour. Sherlock looked up at that, before he shrugged and turned on the other side. "Thought so" he mumbled, turning on his other side, immediately covered by his loyal carpet.

After that, dinner became a good-humoured, casual affair, with lots of tuttering from Mrs Hudson, lots of handholding from two of the doctors and quite a few smittened looks from the third.

"Why didn't you deduce this, dear?" Mrs Hudson asked Sherlock already while John was carving the turkey. "There was a lot of contrary data" Sherlock replied softly, a minute smile palying on his lips "besides, John did not _want_ to be deduced - _that_ was easy to deduce".

"Do you often heed people's requests not to be deduced?" Doctor Strange asked curiously. Sherlock met his eyes squarely. "Never. But John is my best friend, and this is obviously important to him. He's been happy, not snappish as dating usually makes him, and I would be the last to ruin that. If you hurt him, I don't care what dimension you hide in. I will find you and disolve both your eyeballs".

Mrs Hudson was about to reprimand him for this, but Doctor Strange beat her to it "please, that's not very creative. And be a bit more ambitious - they're one of our most easily disolvable body parts". Sherlock smiled dangerously "yes, so you will live through that and feel it. How many others do you think I can disolve before you lose consiousness?"

The Doctor was entirely silent as he had found the cake at this point, but John decided to cut in as Strange looked decidedly interested in continuing this line of questioning, and that was simply disturbing. Nice, because clearly light sociopaths and he got along well together, so that was an excellent sign, but still disturbing.

* * *

Sherlock stood by the window, playing what Mrs Hudson had specified on the violin. She was puttering about in the kitchen, still enjoying her now obvious triumph. The Carpet and the Cloak were playing tag again, using both the square footage and the hight of the room to host their game.

The Doctor had gotten out the old chess set from the bookcase and was playing against Excalibur. Mrs Hudson had fussed about how the sword - which now had gotten decidedly attached to John - would be able to play, but Sherlock didn't care. It obviously worked well.

The TARDIS was amusing itself in its corner by mimicking the twinkle of the Christmas lights. It looked like it had fun, but that was always so hard to tell with some people - and some magical artifacts, those Doctor Strange kept referring to as "relics" in his funny accent. Sherlock was not so sure why John looked so absurdly smittened every time the other doctor talked - to him, Strange sounded like himself but slightly deeper and with weird pronounciation. But John had always been a series of challenging riddles disguised in wholly jumpers.

John and Doctor Strange had taken Sherlock's usual spot in the couch and was making out like teenagers, but in Sherlock's judgement, this Strange man was far better than all the usual "girlfriends" put together. Besides, John was happy, and Sherlock had never been that bothered with "acting your age", from the start. So he just started another elementary Christmas tune to please Mrs Hudson, because she was partially right. It was not the only one, but it was _a_ day they had to be kind to Mrs Hudson, and he had nothing else to do today - not until the carpet needed someone to play fetch with, anyway.

Maybe the cloak would join them - it didn't look like its own companion would be very playful with anyone but John tonight. Sherlock smirked, and drew his bow across the strings with just enough care. He might not care much for Christmas, but this was a good night nevertheless.

 _Happy Christmas everyone and here is the resolution! There will be a few more chapters though, so stay tuned! :D_

 _I do not own anything you recognise - I don't even know where some of it is from!_

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 _To the guest irene: thank you very much, and Happy Christmas to you too! :)_


	25. December 25:th

**December 25:th - Christmas Morning**

Sherlock came out of his bedroom, so early that the sun had barely started to come up, dressed in his dressing gown. Despite the early hour, Mrs Hudson and Doctor Strange was in the kitchen, judging by the sound. He assumed they were baking again, and the scent rather confirmed it.

The Doctor had left after dinner with the TARDIS, and the sword - Excalibur, apparently - had decided to lay on the mantelpiece next to the skull after chasing him around after he dared hit on Sherlock. There was a sort of persistence to the relic while doing so which resembled John in his most protective mood.

Once Mrs Hudson had retired downstairs and Doctor Strange and John had disappeared upstairs at around one am, Sherlock had gone into his own bedroom eventually, followed by not only the carpet, which had developed quite a habit of draping itself over his feet no matter where he was, but also tentatively by the cloak.

He did not even need to use his deductive powers to know when Strange and John had eventually settled down to sleep, as the cloak had left him just before three in the morning, and it was easy for Sherlock to understand why.

Sherlock had started to play the violin, but not too loudly, when a decidedly sheepish John woke up, at a much more resonable time in the morning and came downstairs just in time for breakfast. Maybe the timing depended on that there was magic available.

Sherlock watched John as he put new logs on the fire, much to the delight of the carpet and cloak. They were soon lying lazily in front of it like two cats made of fabric, the carpet on the floor and the cloak draped across the closest armchair. They were even batting at each other with their hems like two playful cats might. It made Sherlock smile, at least, up until he looked at his best friend (fabric aside) and saw the look of complete devestation on his face as he watched the scene.

He was about to ask, as Strange walked past him, concernedly asking "John? I am not going to ask if something is wrong, because _obviously_ it is, but _what_ is wrong exactly? What did we miss?" John gave him an incredulous look. "Really? Stephen, this just _began_ , and it will never _work_!" Sherlock frowned. "Why not?" " _Why_? Sherlock, he lives in _New York_. It is halfway across the world!"

"Well, I am friends with him, and with the Doctor, and while he belongs in London, he travels through time! And why worry about that? They can travel instantaneously and at any time, we'll see enough of them." Sherlock rolled his eyes and put his bow back to the strings of his violin, muttering "Strange rather too much, I think". Strange smiled, leaning down to gently kiss John on the head. "Your quirky flatmate is right. I can easily open up a portal at any time and come to you. Or even open one for you to step through.

"Isn't that a bit one-sided?" John criticised. "There's cell phones" came the identical words from Sherlock and Strange at the same time. Mrs Hudson chuckled from the kitchen as John finally had to relent, and called them all in for breakfast. It seemed like she had acquired a new boy. And a few more magical relics.

 _Happy Christmas everyone!_

 _I do not own anything you recognise - I don't even know where some of it is from!_

 _TapTap_


	26. December 26:th

**December 26:th - Boxing Day**

John woke up to silence, no violin screeching and no strange explosions, which in itself was just a little bit troubling. Softly moving the sleepy (or something?) cloak away from his shoulder, he sat up in bed. Stephen had stayed the night once more, and clearly he was still here. The cloak enjoyed sleeping in more than its sorcerer did, apparently.

"You don't happen to know where Stephen is?" he asked the Cloak, which merely bobbed a nod with its collar, flickering towards the bedroom door. John got dressed and walked downstairs, finding the cloak draped over the kitchen chair his boyfriend sat in. The carpet lay on the floor, smoothly avoiding anything which might fall on it.

Sherlock and Stephen sat by the kitchen table together, seemingly performing an experiment of some kind. When John came closer, he saw that they were in fact dissecting a brain. That was a bit gruesome, of course, but they both seemed facinated. John stepped closer, to give Stephen a kiss, when he suddenly hd to stop.

Was that really Stephen? They were _incredibly_ alike. He blinked, and the moment passed. It was clearly Stephen in his blue robes and with the cloak resting on his chair, currently saying in that deep, alluring voice of his "this is actually a facinating perspective to take on neuroscience!"

The clean-shaven man looked up with a frown upon noting that they were watched, asking somewhat brusquely "John? What is it?" while the one with a small goatee frowned more deeply, looking very concerned, making out to reach out a hand in John's direction, but then realising he wore gloves full of brain substance and ceasing the motion. "John? Is everything alright?"

"Yes" John walked up and kissed Stephen on the nose. "I just understand Mrs Hudson's comment from a few days ago now. You two really are so alike... I couldn't tell you apart for a moment there!"

Two identical, factual comments replied to him immediately. "Statistically, there's seven people in the world who shares identical traits with you". Sherlock went back to poking at the brain. "It happens, unlikely as it might seem" Stephen added, while looking back on what they were doing, removing his gloves.

"There's a ten procent chance of meeting one of them in your lifetime" Sherlock inserted dryly. Stephen chuckled, rising, gloves now discarded safely, with far more care for hygiene than Sherlock had ever had. "I do not know what the statistics for dating the room-mate of one are, but sooner or later, in some dimension, everything happens" Stephen continued, putting an arm around John's waist.

"Well, neither one of you are allowed to change your style without previous notice!" John ordered playfully. "You" he leaned closer to Strange "are not allowed to shave, nor change your robes without telling me, and you" he turned to Sherlock "cannot cut your hair, ever". He smiled as Stephen smirked and Sherlock pretended _not_ to smirk in a very similar fashion.

"Shall we make breakfast?" Stephen changed the subject, still smiling. "Perhaps there shouldn't be brain substance in the kitchen, actually. Do you want to cook at my place instead?" As his question was recieved with a smile, he grinned and opened a portal, letting John go along first. Laughing, John let his boyfriend guide him into the New York Sanctum, spending the next several hours cooking together in a mercifully clean kitchen and letting Stephen show him around the very interesting house. It was a perfect day.

 _This is the last regular installment of this calendar - but there will be a new year's eve special/epilogue as well by new year's eve!_

 _I do not own anything you recognise - I don't even know where some of it is from!_

 _TapTap_

 _To the guest irene: thank you very much! Well, John is getting more positive now that he has realised they might work. He is just in love really. :) I am glad you liked my other Strange story as well - there's a baby Strange story too, which will continue after these two have been finished! I do hope you like the ending (there is an epilogue to come still!)_


	27. December 31:st

**December 31:st - New Years Eve**

It was New Year's Eve. Sherlock had left the flat very early, running off on a very promising case, and Mrs Hudson had gone away with some friends of hers, so John was alone. He was not very concerned by it, instead enjoying the peace and silence as the day ran on. He was not entirely by himself, either, as the Carpet and Excalibur were somewhere in the flat. He had no doubt that if he wanted, they wold come easily enough. At eight thirty, a now familiar golden circle appeared, and he saw Strange peek through it. "John? Will you come? I've got a surprise".

Smiling, John got up immediately, leaving his book in his chair, right next to the Union Jack pillow. "Am I dressed alright?" "You'll be fine" Strange encouraged, reaching out to take his hand even as he stepped through the circle.

John looked around after stepping through, still holding Stephen's hand, and saw that they stood above a city of some kind. "Where are we, exactly?" Stephen smiled. "Many miles from the city you're looking at. The view is still nice though. As it is, we are in a slight village. But they have the best pizza here, at this old stone-owen place, and I thought that, well, you might enjoy a slightly more peaceful evening - after living with Sherlock". John smiled. "That's thoughtful" he looked around at the beautiful surroundings - truly romantic in a profound way few places really were - and smiled back at Stephen "it's perfect!"

This, technically only their second offical date, was even more perfect than the last one; their first one. (Neither really counted Christmas dinner or breakfast as a date.) They both secretly thought that after Christmas morning they'd rather moved beyond that, anyway.

"So" John decided to put things straight while he had the opportunity, as they sat together at a small table, overlooking the countryside around them, across from them and with the town below. "We are a... thing, now, right? Together?" "Right, that's a talk you're supposed to have" Stephen replied, putting his fork down. "I don't sleep with people unless I'm serious, John".

"Really?" John snickered over his glass of wine, unsually for a second date feeling comfortable enough to tease. "I would have thought the you of the past to be the kind to be a bit more... well". Strange snorted in reply. "Past me couldn't be bothered. And the me of today, well, let's just say I have better things to do than play the field".

"I know the feeling. Besides" John added with a smirk "Mrs Hudson and Sherlock would kill you otherwise". "Possibly even the Doctor!" Strange suggested, making John wince. "I think he has a thing for Sherlock. I'm not sure Sherlock has even noticed. I doubt he'd be interested".

Strange frowned slightly. Something had happened, and they both guessed it, to make Excalibur so hostile towards the Doctor, but they hadn't seen anything. "Give him more credit. Sherlock is very observant, and you've taught him about emotion. He'll figure it out". "Sorry" John rolled his eyes, but it was aimed at himself. "I shouldn't be talking about my flatmate all night!"

"It was hardly all night, and besides I thought it was exes you shouldn't talk about!" Stephen replied, smiling, reaching out to lay a hand over John's hand, squeesing ever so slightly. The army doctor smiled in response, stroking a thumb over Stephen's fingers but not squeesing as he hadn't quite figured out how sore the socrcerer's fingers still were. "I'll leave that list to Sherlock. You'll be fascinated. Mostly by his lack of focus. You'll never guess at some of the things he remembers, and forgets!" They snickered together.

"So, what about your ex? While we're talking of forbidden subjects. You don't miss her?" Stephen shook his head in responce. "Not any more. She is a very nice person, but... I don't want to be one of her charity cases, and we just don't have anything in common anymore. If we ever did, besides the surgery".

"Well, then" John smiled warmly at Stephen "let's hope we have more to build on then". Smiling back, with just a little bit of relief mixed in with the affection, Stephen raised his glass. "To hope". "And to uss" John added, clinking their glasses ever so slightly together. As fireworks went off later that night, sent up from the town below, they indulged in the softest kiss either of them had ever experienced. It was a glorious start.

 **Epilogue - One year later. Exactly.**

The New York Sanctum was filled with lights and music and there was even tinsel this year. Most of the sorcerers of Kamar-Taj celebrated the new year - those who did - at Kamar-Taj itself, but not the newly elected Sorcerer Supreme.

Christine sat on the armrest of one of the large chairs of the living room, frowning slightly as she ran a finger across her lover's chin. "I suppose the goatee isn't _that_ bad, but..." "I am not getting rid of the goatee" Tony Stark replied, removing her hand somewhat impatiently. He hated one night stands who couldn't take a hint, and he'd started to suspect that that was all she'd ever really be. Maybe he'd go to Malibu for a while, and warn the resident sorcerer to set up wardsaround this place. "You should get going, or you'll be late for your shift" he reminded her, allowing a kiss as she rose and hastened off. The room seemed to draw a collective breath of relief as she left.

"Well, she has a type" Sherlock noted idly over from the couch, where he was lying surrounded by various relics. They all seemed to prefer his company, if their own humans were busy elsewhere. The Carpet was graciously sharing him with its friends, seemingly especially found of joining together with the Cloak of Levitation and bury him in fabric. Sherlock occasionally pretended like he didn't love playing games with the relics, but he fooled absolutely no one.

Stumpy the Gargoyle left the couch as soon as Christine had gone, and appeared on Stark's armrest instead. Ironman looked much more pleased with this company. Maybe it was that he already had such a warm relationship to his bots, but the engineer had taken to the stone statue right away, not even disturbed by it following him home - just as soon as Strange had taken a look and could guarantee that it was benevolent.

"Yes, she does. Intelligent, arrogant men who work too much and doesn't really care if she's there or not" Stephen noted dryly from where he was lying on the carpet with John, challenging two others in their group at Settlers of Catan. "I would argue, but, yes. It takes one to now one" Tony agreed, petting Stumpy absentmindedly.

"Well, no wonder Sherlock can see it then" Molly joked, winking at John, who barely stifled a laugh. The TARDIS blinked peacefully in the background, its Doctor chuckling with his arm protectively draped across Molly's back, where they lay facing the other couple while playing the boardgame.

It had taken quite some time before the Doctor could be in Sherlock's company at all after the Holmes had refused him in February, and it had been mid-july before he stopped looked wistfully at the Consulting Detective. That Sherlock had made him come to the Morgue with him and had tripped him up at a very opportune moment, literally sending him into the arms of Molly, might have something to do with it.

Draped across Molly, just liked the Cloak had draped itself over Stephen and John, was the cloak of invisibility, Mrs Hudson's relic since many years. The Doctor would tell you it was why she was noticed so little. It made Molly look a little quaint, half her legs invisible, but life around Sherlock, Stephen and The Doctor was so peculiar already that no one really noticed.

Mrs Hudson was in the kitchen, relishing the chance to fuss about them all, John and Strange - both surgeons at heart - wore their engagement rings in chains around their necks, and Tony was there to back Stephen up when they mocked him for saying "Merry" instead of "Happy Christmas". It was, at the long and short of it, a truly wonderful New Year's Eve - the first of many (or rightly the second, for some of them).

 _This is the very final installment of this series, though I just might be persuaded to do another series next year! (This year, already, for some of my readers) (Either a sequel or something completely new) So I hope you have all enjoyed this story - I have loved writing it and also loved all the responce I recieved from all of you, you have truly been fantastic readers! Futher, thank you so much to all my repeat reviewers, I am so happy that you're still interested enough to want to read and comment!_

 _Special thank you's to Honestlydarkprincess, KarToon12, Sudoku, Princess Prettypants and irene for all your encouragement and all the care you've given this saga - it has spurred me on greatly!_

 _For those of you who might be curious, I did manage to write it all day-by-day, with the exception of the AU dimension chapter, which took two days to write. (There were also a few conversations of Christmas eve and day as well as boxing day which I had prepared some to know what I was writing towards.)_

 _Stumpy belongs, like Excalibur, in the Librarians television series, and the idea to bring him in as well came from a reviewer. The Cloak of Invisibility is from Harry Potter._

 _Now, Happy New Year, and may it be a great year!_

 _I do not own anything you recognise - I don't even know where some of it is from!_

 _TapTap_


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